


Romanticism

by Adelina_Ophelia



Category: Strictly Come Dancing RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Ranvir is a literature nerd, Ridiculously soft Gio, like seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28749777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adelina_Ophelia/pseuds/Adelina_Ophelia
Summary: Ranvir has a slight obsession with classical literature and Giovanni loves it.
Relationships: Giovanni Pernice/Ranvir Singh
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	Romanticism

Giovanni scanned Ranvir’s bookshelf while waiting for her to come back from putting her son to bed. He ran his hand over the spine of a thick copy of Shakespeare’s tragedies; by this point, Gio was well aware of Ranvir’s love of Shakespearean tragedies although he didn’t much understand it himself. Ranvir’s bookshelf was filled with an assortment of both classical and modern literature, although the classics were clearly more worn and read than most of the more modern novels. The Romantic Era of literature was an area that Ranvir was particularly passionate about as Giovanni had learnt after many late night conversations with her on the topic; her particular favourite was Wuthering Heights (Gio may or may not have spent a week reading it simply so he could surprise her with it). He noticed a particularly well worn copy of Keats poetry and just as he was about to pull it off the shelf, Ranvir coming down the stairs pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Looking for something in particular darling?” Ranvir wandered over to stand next to him. “It’s not particularly well organised so you might need some help.”

Acting like a child caught stealing sweets out a cupboard, Giovanni stumbled over his words and began turning red, “N..no I was just… it’s nothing. I wasn’t.”

Giggling, Ranvir grabbed the book he had been about to touch, “It’s a collection of poetry by Keats. Had to analyse it for my degree but he became a particular favourite of mine. It’s quite dark occasionally, generally revolves around death and lost love, but that’s the nature of the Romantics.”

Confusion swept over Gio, “We have a very different definition of romantic then, Ranvi.”

Quickly catching up to where Giovanni’s mind went, she corrected herself, “Oh, not that kind of romantic. The Romantic movement. It was a style of literature in the late eighteenth to early twentieth century. It revolved around nature and the desire to find someone who holds the same views as you. It also generally encouraged people to be higher thinking and …”

As she noticed Giovanni staring at her, she trailed off and, as had become her habit, immediately apologised for spiraling. 

“So would Jane Austen be considered a Romantic author then?”

Shocked, Ranvir actually took a couple of steps backwards, “W..what? You actually want to hear about this?”

Closing the gap between them, Gio grabbed her free hand, “Of course I do, Princess. I love hearing you talk about literature. Your eyes light up.”

Ranvir blushed bright red and sat on the window seat by the bookshelf. Giovanni followed her example and pulled her close to him. “So? Jane Austen? Romantic or not?”

“Well, I suppose she would in theory, yes. Romanticism is split into two movements: Light and Dark. Jane Austen would come under Light Romanticism,” Ranvir explained slowly. “However, I’m much more of a fan of Dark Romanticism personally. Hence the love for Wuthering Heights.”

“So Keats would be considered Dark Romanticism then?” 

Smiling at the fact that he was actually paying attention to her (she wasn’t used to that), Ranvir unconsciously stroked the cover of the book she was still holding, “Naturally, darling.”

“Read it to me? Or at least your favourite ones?”

Ranvir glanced up at him, “You know this is becoming a more frequent request by the day. Don’t think I don’t know that you stand outside the bedroom door when I’m reading to my son.”

Blushing, having been caught but honestly he’s not that surprised, “You have a pretty voice. Now read me poetry about death and depressing shit.”

Laughing but turning to one of her favourites in the book, Ranvir began to read:

“My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains  
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,   
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains  
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:  
‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,  
But being too happy in thine happiness, -  
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees  
In some melodious plot  
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,  
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! That hath been  
Cool’d for a long age in the deep-delved earth,  
Tasting of Flora and the country green,  
Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth!  
O for a beaker full of the warm South,  
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,  
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,  
And purple-stained mouth;  
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,  
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:”

As she continued reading the rest of the poem, Giovanni laid his head on her lap and she began stroking his hair gently. Upon reaching the final line, Gio sat up, looking confused. “Did you just read me one of the most beautiful poems I’ve ever heard and it’s about suicide?”

Laughing, Ranvir replied, “I did warn you it was dark. But you’re right, it is very beautiful. I love it.”

Lying back down on her lap, Gio requested, well more demanded, that she read more. Flipping to a shorter sonnet, she continued to read:  
“Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art -  
Not in lone splendour hung aloft in the night  
And watching, with eternal lids apart,  
Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,   
The moving waters at their priestlike task  
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,   
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask  
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors -  
No - yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,  
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,  
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,  
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,  
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,  
And so live ever - or else swoon to death.”

“Still depressing but at least he tried to make it Romantic,” Gio sighed happily as Ranvir continued running her fingers through his hair. Usually, he would hate people messing up his hair but when it was her, he actually adored it. For some reason, her touch was calming and reassuring. Most people said he was out of her league but Giovanni refused to even acknowledge that; if anything she was out of his. Snapping out his thoughts, he realised he’d been staring at her for a few minutes.

Sitting up slowly, he leant over and kissed her gently, smiling as he felt her respond. Deciding to tease her slightly after the kiss ended, he whispered “You know I’ve never read any Jane Austen right. I just knew she wrote books with ridiculously long sentences so I presumed she was that time period.”

Looking absolutely aghast, Ranvir gasped, “Next thing you’ll be telling me you’ve never read The Picture of Dorian Gray either.” After a brief silence clearly indicating he had not in fact read it, Ranvir walked over the her bookshelf, replaced the copy of Keats and pulled out both Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde and Persuasion by Jane Austen, while muttering something about him being uncivilised.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos to Keats for writing pretty poetry ... I still don't want to write the essay on it though.
> 
> I seriously adore these two and they have consumed my every thought.


End file.
